


It's A Kind Of Magic

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia isn't magic, but she can channel it.  Stiles is magic, but not strong enough.  Together, though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Kind Of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Queen. Written for the open square on my TW bingo card for Lydia/Stiles. I went with "magic" for a prompt.

Lydia is immune to everything supernatural. Outside of not being able to become a werewolf, she's not sure what they means. She performed the spell to bring Peter back to life, after all, and spellwork is supernatural.

They argue about that for days.

Once she learned the truth about the world she lives in, Lydia threw herself into it entirely. She guilts Peter into buying her books and tools and a high speed tablet for portable research. She convinces Allison to teach her to fight--she never does master hand-to-hand but she has wicked aim with a gun and crossbow. She even gets Derek talking about the history of werewolves from the wolf of side of things--Derek, because while she can stomach Peter long enough to manipulate him, she can't bear to talk to him too deeply.

And Stiles is by her side the whole time, teaching her, arguing with her, playing off her intelligence with his own.

Jackson is gone by the second week of summer, taken away by his parents for safety and a new life, and she's so busy, she only misses him when she lets her mind calm.

So, she rarely does.

It doesn't really surprise her that the spastic idiot who, for years, followed her around with slavish devotion, has depths she never pondered. She was shallow, cold and cruel, but the dance was the first time she saw more in him.

He always saw more in her.

It does surprise her that, when she kisses Stiles, he doesn't turn into a blushing, freaked out, groping boy. The supernatural has matured him beyond his years and he may not have the experience she does, but he kisses back softly, one hand cupping her cheek, and when she pulls away, his eyes aren't lit by devotion.

They're full of emotion, but not wonder, not shock, not 'fall at her feet' reverence.

And Lydia realizes she no longer wants that from him or anyone. She doesn't care if she's queen of the high school anymore. Her life has so much more meaning.

Maybe love can, too.

They don't fall right into bed with each other. They don't even go on a date for nearly three weeks after the first kiss. They spend almost every day of the summer together and they get to know each other in ways she never knew Jackson.

It's Stiles who figures it out.

She can't do magic, not like he can. There's no supernatural spark in her like the one being nurtured in him. Often she goes to his training sessions with Deaton, but the vet only gives her enigmatic looks and never gives her straight answers about her own abilities or her immunity. He does say he can't train her. That doesn't make sense to her.

More and more, Stiles does make sense, and one morning he points triumphantly to a passage in a book translated badly from Romanian--a language she's determined to learn--and tells her she's a conduit.

The supernatural can be channeled through her, strengthened by her, sparked from within her.

Lydia insists he try something. Stiles wants to do it at the relative safety of Deaton's office, but she insists, and he finally gives in. They move the rug off the permanent rune circle etched into the floor--she remembers that when they did it, Stiles bemoaned the fact that his dad would never be able to sell the house to anyone but witches--and take their places. Stiles lights the candles with his mind--one of the first things he learned--and then concentrates. Because his magic is instinctive and not learned, his spells aren't the traditional kind so he never needs to speak them, but he often mutters under his breath.

He does so now, not making any sense to anyone but himself, and she tunes him out, closes her eyes, waits.

Something begins to fill her, making her skin tingle from the inside out. It's not unpleasant. It's not the confusion of Peter's near-possession of her that locked her inside herself. She doesn't feel any loss of control.

Maybe because she's not fighting it.

Stiles says her name in a strangled voice and she opens her eyes. Between them is a glowing ball of flame, about four inches in diameter. For months he's been trying to produce independent, lasting flame--lighting the candles is a thing of seconds, bound to the wick itself--but he's failed every time. The closest he's come was an inch long spark that immediately fell to the floor and burned a mark there before vanishing within ten seconds.

They both stare at the flame ball for nearly five minutes, before Lydia feels something release inside herself and the flame makes a quiet 'pop' and is gone.

The grin on Stiles' face is brilliant and she can feel the answering one on her own. When done together, it was so easy, the energy expended so small.

Both high on the magic, both wanting to keep connected in the most visceral way, they make love for the first time, wrapping themselves in a different kind of energy.

It's surprisingly good.

And, in the afterglow, as they lay curled together on Stiles' twin bed, he unconsciously traces ruins on her perspiration damp stomach, and Lydia wonders if what they are, witch and conduit, will keep them together. His gasp draws her attention down her still trembling body and she sees the glowing patterns sink into her skin, sees them emerge on his own in a black that isn't ink.

He complains he'll never be able to go shirtless again.

She leans down and runs her tongue over the runes on his flat stomach, tasting his magic.

End


End file.
